Long Clean hands Poems
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Today’s Soapbox Opinion
Written: by Tom Wright
6/27/2019
Ambition, to politicians, is like powerful drugs,
We’re shown clean hands but most resemble slugs.
Seems It’s more of the same with every election,
And this years field typifies a dingbat collection.
Catering to lobbyist while with voters patronizing,
They can’t seem to agree on where the sun is rising.
Each has an agenda and firmly set in these ways,
A socialist wants free stuff and the wealthy pays.
America is a country where opportunity is rife,
We’ve become a fractured nation, thus inducing strife.
“Well done is better than well said”
Benjamin Franklin
After all it is an observable sign of Weakness,
To want to control another man,
As it was all only ever a part
of, their existential plan,
We might then have had a different course..
So, but for now, as it is and as it stands,
We therefore need to face the facts,
And commit to a complete separation and Divorce,
At least if at all possible but with clean hands,
Of this contrived, diabolical and decrepit awful illusion,
To not be lower than, nor accept, their lying and ignoble brand..
With every single available breath,
Under no false impression nor delusion,
Of complete yet subtle ownership of Human life and death
To begin with came the stellar efforts of just a brave few..one could not deny,
Now an ever increasing truth, That outweighs the falsehood and the heinous Lie,
To rise and never relinquish your own sovereignty again - so then to fulfil..,
The Soul instinctively knows this for how and for what - to return,
That is our maker, God (Good) and our source, which is what we must relearn,
We must all “rotate” as it is - to this..
After all that is said and done
- it is his will,
Simply put.. never let up against the powers of darkness until;
As we emerge in victory for we never a moment expired our efforts spiritually and yet still..,
Just as it must be of our own decision and intuition,
- for us all, for me,
and for you,..
to know only this:
The Way Out is the Way Through..
Kurt Hubbard-Beale
[email protected]
During covid 19 Global lockdown and Plandemic
23rd September 2022
The PoetTree Awaken Poetry. Awareness Poetry. Geopolitical. Philosophical. Music. Shared
Every acre belongs to our God
all oceans are within His pool
the world's every inhabitant is His
fully wrapped within God's micro spool
There is a hill so hard to ascend
a place where only holiness can dwell
only pure hearts ans clean hands
can live within such a godly shell
the Lord's blessing is to be received
for those that will earnestly seek
the salvation of the Lord is available
to those lifes godliness does speak
look up and open wide your gates
so the glorious king may come in
this king is indeed the almighty Lord
strong to save this the redeemed to sing
May your heads be lifted up
look and see your anointed king
the Lord of hosts is His name
come to save us from all sin
The master cracks his whip
across the horse’s trembling flank,
pushing the beast to its limits
until the wildness snaps and the horse reacts,
a flurry of chaos beneath the sting.
When silence falls, the master
believes the animal has learned,
believes the wounds are healed.
He reaches out with clean hands,
petting the horse's weary muzzle,
his fingers gentle, but not soft enough.
The horse, though still, does not forget.
It smells the leather polish on the master's skin, the lingering scent of cruelty woven into the fabric of his flesh.
The horse knows the weight of that smell,
knows it cannot be washed away.
And no matter how tender the touch, the horse remains wary,
the scars deeper than the skin, unforgiven.
The master must face the truth of his actions.
the horse may no longer fight,
but forgiveness does not bloom on the soil of mistreated land.
The horse is not healed,
and the master is not forgiven.
In My Madness
In my madness I would freeze the universe just to stop you for a single breath,
I would pour the liquid sky into my palms and whisper those two sacred words,
But I hear them from the mouths of others and every syllable burns my skin like a viper's death,
An *I love you* spoken by someone else is the warmest and the gentlest of all swords.
In my madness I would stop time like a broken pocket watch held still,
I would freeze an entire ocean just for one single unspoken kiss,
But I saw in your eyes that our universe had packed up and moved downhill,
That I no longer fit inside your life, that the place that was mine now sits in the abyss.
In my madness I would break through walls with my heavy and broken wings,
I would stop the rains and the wind and every thought that eats me alive,
But I stand and watch life with hollow eyes like two cold stars with no rings,
And my madness becomes silence, becomes an empty room, becomes a barren drive.
In my madness I would be bold, I would turn your face back toward mine with everything I had,
I would do anything, I would burn anything, I would rebuild all I tore to the ground,
But my luck has always been a hurried guest who packed up and moved on too fast and too bad,
And I call out after it in vain, in the night, on a road that no longer wants to be found.
In my madness, in the nights when two stars look down on me like your eyes used to do,
I would turn back time and live it differently, with clean hands and no regret,
Just to hear those two warm words one more time, without the valley running through,
Spoken by you, meant for me, before everything shattered and we hadn't fallen yet.
I will love you more at parting,
When everything hangs in the balance, in agony,
When a farewell pierces the soul more intensely,
And I have closed the door of your home with sadness.
I will take my suitcase heavy with inner storms,
And a photograph faded by the whirlwind of time,
The chance of our wedding, a moment lost,
Today I leave it in the hands of other young lovers.
And I will kiss you with dignity and respect,
For destiny has intertwined my life with yours for so many years,
And even though we have conquered in this sin of love,
It still persists within me.
At parting, I will invoke you more often,
And will depart towards an unknown destination,
You were my solace in this tumultuous love,
And support in each year that has passed.
And I will leave with clean hands,
I will lock the memories in the box of time,
And even the stars fall in the middle of the night,
Forgotten in flight by the loves that are no more.
I built my fortress out of counting—
fourteen hundred twenty ways to say I’m safe.
The light switch: off, on, off again, again.
The stove knobs all aligned at six o’clock.
My hands know every doorknob’s texture, how
the deadbolt clicks when turned exactly twice.
I check the rearview mirror: once for cars,
and once for certainty, and once for luck.
The numbers line up clean as soldiers, march
in formation through my racing thoughts.
If I can just complete the sequence, then—
but there’s no then. There’s only one more check,
one more loop around the house at night,
one more time washing my already clean hands.
I know the math is wrong—this isn’t safety,
just arithmetic I use to build my cage.????????????????
Amazing Agape
The immaculate Father Almighty
Soul redeemer, merciful and mighty
Wear His yoke upon you of humble heart
How to live, to love it's a magic art.
Do not touch what is unclean says the Lord
Turn darkness to light with righteous accord
Believers are sons and daughters out there
God will receive into His holy care.
With clean hands and a heart that's truly pure
We'll stand in amazing agape for sure
Ascend the mountain of heavenly grace
Search with birds eye view earths beauteous place.
All things wonderful are work of God's hand
Could anything be as grand as His land
All people on this wondrous earth that dwell
Care for all that the Lord Himself made swell.
A guiding light shining out there in space
Embrace amazing agape with fine grace.
14th May 2021
Footnote . . .
In Scripture, the transcendent agape love is the highest form of love and is contrasted with eros, or erotic love, and philia, or brotherly love.
A very human touch to a story
with some zip to it.
The media is a heartless leach
to the many unfortunate souls suffering,
amongst the filth and chaos of a city in peril.
War has reduced entire cities to rubble,
people are forced to flee for their lives
and yet, the news cameras focus their lenses
on its bullet-ridden facade for dramatic effect.
A money-hungry machine,
news stations suck every ounce of emotion from a story
without shame.
We expect them to inform us
of worldwide catastrophes and events,
and so, we encourage indiscriminate insensitive
photo-shoots of people’s pain.
It may be a sad addiction, and quite pathetic,
but it’s perfectly acceptable,
to exploit human suffering
in the name of news.
Coverage of childhood trauma, fear, or starvation,
all fall under the doctrine of clean hands.
Reporters inoculate hard hearts from reality’s truths
as homeless, hopeless faces,
cling to life, walking away
from everything they ever loved.
And recording their pain
while it’s still fresh and piercing,
is but an opportunity for the news to shore up falling ratings.
(Free Verse)
The globe is in lockdown,
the borders are closed
the news is all gloom and despair,
Covid-19 is the new kid in town
causing panic and fear everywhere.
Our lives are all changing,
effects are wide ranging,
whole nations are put to the test,
and though we don't like it
these methods to fight it,
some things are changing for the best.
In future, through habit, we know everyone
will all have incredibly clean hands,
and as the whole nation goes self-isolation
you can avoid people that you can't stand.
The shelves may be empty,
our shopping restricted,
the choices a narrower range,
but Fresh fruit and veg are still plentiful,so
maybe our diets will change.
The Missus no longer complains about football
and too much of it on TV,
now I smile while her episode of 'Eastenders'
is put back by the BBC.
So stiff upper lip, folks, keep raising a smile,
all in this together we'll pull,
life is not risk-averse, whatever the curse
just face it with your glass half full.
For contest 'Covid-19', sponsor Team Poetry Soup
18th March 2020